Morning Prose

Yesterday I unintentionally awoke at 4:13 a.m. and retrieved the pen and paper I keep next to my bed. In the darkness, still half-asleep, this is what I wrote:

Upside down
and turned around
bubbles sinking to the floor

There's no way out
I scream and shout
My voice is heard no more

Blackness comes
my body numb
complete and to the core

I close my eyes
there is no cry
at last I am no more

February 28, 2018
4:15 a.m.

Pen in hand I fell asleep back to sleep.

We Always Love

We quietly disagree, sometimes even agree to disagree.

We get on each other's nerves.

We always love.

Occasionally we may even wonder why.

At times we talk, yet not communicate, other times it's vice versa.

We fight for love.

He doesn't yell. Neither do I.

Yet I've slammed bedroom doors, house doors, car doors.

I've sought refuge and space on our boat.

We pray for love.

I've cried. And cried.

I frustrate him and he frustrates me.

And not cried because I was physically unable to.

We hope for love.

We've lived.

And learned.

We've hurt ourselves and each other.

At times we dislike the other.

Yet we always love.

There was no delineation where one ends and the other begins.

Now we tiptoe over the crack.

And it continues to grow.

Now my back is firmly planted against the wall...

Traveling

The path has lengthened and I am no longer alone.

This path I have been traveling has been long and, at times, painful.

The sun continues to rise and set and time moves forward -- and I'm okay with that.

I've learned to adjust me to work in rhythm with the earth.

Changes

The changes are so dramatic, but I hold my breath.
Afraid to let my guard down, for even a moment; a millisecond.
Afraid the other shoe will drop on my head and knock me to the floor.

Depression

Standing still.
Running fast.
Blocking the pain.
Feeling the joy.
Letting go.
Holding on.
Needing solace.
Fearing loneliness.
Hurting deeply.
Loving without question.
Wanting you.
Pushing you away.
Finding steady ground.
Tripping over mountains.
Bending with the storm.
Grasping only air.
Wishing bad memories away.
Leaving good memories behind.
Hanging on by a thread.
Knowing time is short.
Grieving my life.
Jumping over the pain.
Wading through the anger.
Dreaming emptiness.
Praying for peace.
Longing for time.

Grieving Grandmother

(A journal entry dated June 18, 2002 -- just a few days after her death.)

My world doesn't turn as slowly as it once did.

Time has quickened and the days connect in a blur.

The pain of losing you runs deep and I am not able to grasp the reality of your death.

The endless moments I spent with you as your book came to a close are moments I will cherish for the rest of my life.

The endless moments ended but I'm at peace because I was able to tell you all the things I held in my heart.

I was able to tell you how blessed I have been to be your tenth granddaughter and that your strength and warmth have made a distinct difference in my life.

Holding your hand, hearing you softly breathe, feeling you reach for me in the night filled my heart with joy and made me appreciate your life and all you mean to so many people.

You are loved, I am blessed, you are missed.